several things happened at the same time.
Lara came out the door—sooner than he’d expected. Could be she had run. She wrapped her arms around herself as the wind hit her. “Reid? What are you—”
Her voice was lost in tires squealing as a dark SUV whipped up to the sidewalk and two masked men, one in the passenger seat and one in back, opened fire.
Reid dove for Lara, vaguely aware of Jen hitting the ground like a pro behind him. He gathered Lara against his body and rolled for cover behind a massive sign that advertised the restaurant.
A bullet penetrated the sign just an inch from his face, a good reminder that flimsy barricades, car doors and such, only stopped bullets in the movies. But at least the cover kept the shooters from being able to take exact aim.
When the shots had quieted for a second, he stuck his head out. The SUV was backing up to get closer to them. He shoved to his feet and yanked Lara up, dragging her behind him, lunging for cover behind the closest car, then the next and the next as bullets pinged around them. Then he was by his own car at last, and the next second they were inside, and then he was driving, getting the hell out of there, having momentary advantage in going forward while their pursuers had to drive in reverse.
The last thing he saw before he shot out onto the busy boulevard was the dark SUV turning around to follow, and Jen’s lifeless body in a pool of blood, illuminated by the light over the restaurant’s entrance. An image straight from the scene-ending shot of an old-fashioned thriller.
Except this was real life, dammit. And he had just lost his most promising asset in a top-priority case. His teeth ground together as he stepped on the gas, weaving in and out of traffic.
“Reid?” Lara’s voice sounded uncharacteristically weak.
She was pressed into the seat as far as she could be from him, looking like she was seeing a ghost. Which she was, in a way. As far as she knew, he’d died a little over two years ago, the night he’d lost all control with her at the bakery.
“I don’t understand—”
“Hang on.”
He couldn’t afford to be distracted now. He scanned the rearview mirror and swore under his breath.
He should have shot back at the bastards. If he’d got them, Jen would still be alive, his narrow doorway to the cell still open. If he’d injured them, the FBI could have interrogated them. If he’d shot them dead, fingerprints could have still been collected. Clues. Links to something.
Instead, he’d lost Jen and gained absolutely nothing.
Gained Lara’s life, a small voice said inside. And he found that as badly as he’d messed up tonight’s operation, he couldn’t work up any serious rage. Which didn’t mean that plenty of anger didn’t simmer below the surface.
Still dazed, Lara was straightening in her seat, gathering herself. “But you died in the fire.”
He turned down the next street, took another turn, then another, going in the opposite direction he had been before. He watched his rearview mirror for the dark SUV, but couldn’t see it. “I don’t have time to explain.”
Why in hell did she have to show up in his life now? Why did she have to show up at all? Ever.
She put her seat belt on with hands that were unsteady but not shaky. She had good hands. Working hands. Strong. She was no shrinking violet. Even now, minutes after escaping mortal danger, she was pulling herself together. Lara Jordan was one tough chick. He’d always liked that about her. As much as he ever let himself truly like anything about anyone.
For the most part, he was big on keeping his distance.
Of course, there’d been a time or two when he’d slipped. Like their one night together. He hadn’t made that mistake since. If sex was offered and the time was right, he took it. But he was always up front about what he was and wasn’t willing to give. There was no loss of control, no passionate coming together against all reason with…with a virgin who had stars in her eyes, for heaven’s sake!
His teeth ground together. Between the shoot-out he was leaving behind and the memories that were quickly surfacing, sending heat straight to his groin, he was getting more morose by the minute.
“Where are we going?” Her voice was nearly back to normal.
“Someplace safe,” he bit out, even as his mind worked a mile a minute trying to think of such a place. He could only come up with one. Oh, hell.
“Who were those people?”
He turned left at the next light. “Not now.” They’d finally made it to Brooklyn. He pulled up a familiar street, slowed in front of an unassuming row house, hit the garage opener, pulled in, closed the door behind them immediately.
She peered through the darkness. “Is this where you live?”
“Mostly.” And he’d never, ever brought anyone here before, friend or foe. He would have to move now. Dammit.
He grabbed her hand and dragged her across the seat, out on his side as he left the car. He froze in place for a second when she stumbled against him. “I’m not going to turn on any lights. Just follow me.” Stepping away from her, he punched in the security code then opened the door that led inside.
She tripped a couple of times, not knowing the terrain, but he couldn’t slow for her. He wanted them in the den with its reinforced walls and his arsenal of weapons close by.
“Here.” He stopped by the hall closet and handed her his Kevlar vest. “Put this on.”
She obeyed without a word.
Then they were all the way in. He pushed her down onto the couch and went to stand by the window. The street was quiet. Not that he allowed himself to relax. He’d been in the game far too long to make that mistake.
“What happened back at the restaurant?” she asked.
And he closed his eyes for a second against the voice he hadn’t forgotten in the past two years, the voice that had said, “Yes, oh yes, Reid, please,” as she’d come apart in his arms on the bread table in his bakery, another undercover job that had turned into a disaster.
The muscles clenched low in his belly.
“What are you involved in?” She folded her arms in front of her awkwardly, the vest, a little big on her, limiting range of movement. Moonlight glinted off her full lips, off the dimple in her right cheek.
He turned fully toward the window, getting her out of his peripheral vision. She was nothing to him. A hot memory from his past. There was no reason why the sight of her on his couch, in his house, should bother him at all. She had no power over him.
She could have had. He’d realized that early on. Which was why he’d made the decision to never go back. He took her power away by reducing her to a memory, a sexual fantasy. He could take her out when he wanted to, and he could put her away.
“Are you involved in something bad?” Her voice held a new twinge of nerves.
He gave a short
